Keep off the Grass

By E.F. Gordon

They ride at dawn to ensure early morning commuters are late for work, pay in change at the grocery store to hold up the line, and attempt to cross busy intersections to scare the daylights out of people.
Who are these horrible monsters? They are the vampires of Silverdale, a progressive town where Lycans, Vampires, Witches, and Ghouls have managed to live in harmony.
Agnes is a member of the vampire cult, The Streetwalkers, which received its name when streets were invented. Due to the term “streetwalker” changing in meaning over time, Agnes advocates for a name change. When The Tall Order of Keep Off the Grass rejects her proposal, Agnes takes to the streets in protest, but her efforts are upended by the discovery of a murdered witch.
Worried that the crime may fracture the peace that has been brokered between the factions, Agnes sets off with her trusty side-kick Edna, a werewolf, and a cat, to solve the mystery and protect their beloved LVWG community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665742771

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Nothing Rhymes With Orange

H e was suddenly aware of two gnarled and outstretched hands presenting him with an orange.

At first, the image was fuzzy, but as his eyes adjusted, his vision became sharp even though his mind was still a bit cloudy.

He peered at the woman to whom the hand belonged. She appeared harmless enough with her cloud of permeated hair, oversized glasses, and delightfully toothless smile, but alarm bells were going off in the recesses of his brain.

The elderly lady that stood over him was dangerous, he knew that, but he could not for the life of him tell you why as he peered into her milky eyes.

A sudden image of blood gushing from his neck flashed in his mind, and his hands reflectively flew to his neck in order to shield it. He was shocked when he wasn’t met with a thick and misty waterfall, and when he withdrew his fingers, he had expected to find them stained with rust-colored blood. Even though all the evidence contradicted him, he felt as if this was what should be occurring at the moment.

However, this was not the case; his fingers were not particularly clean, but no red residue was apparent.

The spot on his neck, the one he had expected to explode with fluid, tickled a little, maybe itched, but there was no evidence of the painful gash he had anticipated.

He was often confused due to the multiple lumps he had acquired as a child, which earned him the nickname, Lumpy.

As the seconds ticked by, Lumpy forgot all about his neck, and his previous fears were slowly fading as the harsh reality of the moment began to set in.

Lumpy suddenly realized that he was squatting in a dark alley as to why and how he had ended up in this precarious position still eluded him. While he had been pondering all of this, he had momentarily forgotten about the elderly lady that was still hovering over him.

What did you do to me? Lumpy gasped again as he felt the reality of what he knew just a few moments before slip his mind. As he posed the question to her, he suddenly remembered it had somehow involved fruit.

His companion in the alley furrowed her brow in concern. Oh, dear me. Her voice was kind but cracked from years of use. You took a bit of a tumble; why don’t you let me give you a hand?

She was carrying a large canvas bag which she used to tuck away the orange she had been flourishing in his face. She extended her palms as an offer to help him to his feet, but he waved her away.

Lumpy was only in his early twenties and didn’t need the aid of an elderly woman in order to get back up onto his own two feet. Feeling humiliated, he shielded his face in an attempt to escape her imploring gaze as he scrambled and failed to put himself upright again.

Using the wall behind him for support, he climbed his way back into an upright position. He felt a bit chaotic and clung to the wall to steady himself.

How did I wind up on the ground? Lumpy persisted. He was well aware that a fall had occurred at some point, but he was a pickpocket by day and a cat burglar at night. His profession demanded excellent coordination and the agility of a ballet dancer. If he was losing his touch, he might have to seek a new domain, and Lumpy was not too keen on developing new skills. It required too much commitment on his part, and he had grown quite partial to the skills he had already acquired.

He studied her as he attempted to piece together what had occurred in the last few moments. He recalled that he had been following closely behind her and another old bag; they both seemed to be chatting about nothing more interesting than the weather.

That was when the one standing in front of him had paused to open her umbrella. The action caused the fruit she was carrying in her bag to spill onto the sidewalk and roll into the alleyway. He recalled he offered to help her; to be honest, he just wanted to get her into the alleyway and out of public view so he could mug her without any interference.

He had been in the process of picking up an apple, preparing to make his move, when something happened. From that moment on, his mind went blank. Even though he could not form an accurate picture of what had happened next, there was an unsettling feeling attached to that dark gap in his memory.

He was standing over the elderly lady now, her friend was nowhere in sight, and now he was contemplating whether he should complete the task of robbing her. She was several feet shorter than he was and peered up at him now. He looked into her sparkling blue eyes and felt fear seize his heart.

He didn’t know why, but he felt he had to escape and get away from her as quickly as possible. Even though he was not wearing a hat, he moved his fingers in a tilting motion as if he were tipping his brim to her. Sorry about the inconvenience, ma’am. He murmured politely.

She clasped her hands over her heart. Inconvenience? she cried. Why you were so kind to help me retrieve my fallen fruit… she paused and motioned in the direction of the wall that was supporting him. I’m just concerned about you, She said and then kindly reminded him, That was a terrible fall you just took.

He looked down and blinked at the space he had just abandoned. He did not recall taking a fall; however, this must have been what happened. After all, it did explain his memory loss. The old lady turned then and started digging in her bag; she extracted the orange she had been holding out in front of him only a moment ago.

Here, she offered it up to him, For your troubles.

He didn’t want the orange; all Lumpy wanted to do was get as far away from this woman as fast as his feet would carry him. He was also afraid to offend her, so he accepted her gift.

You run along now, she told him. It looks like this mist is going to turn into a steady rain soon.

He didn’t argue with her but dumbly nodded. Yes, ma’am, he told her as he backed out of the alley. For some reason turning his back to her didn’t seem like such a good idea. As soon as he was back on the public sidewalk, he did another imaginary hat tip again and said, Thank you, ma’am, before whirling around and bolting.

He only dared to look back once and saw that she stood there watching him go and waving.

AGNES

When you have lived as long as Edna and I have, you tend to notice things.

Our entire purpose, a vampire’s purpose, is to study the human race, and observe and record events as they take place.

Of course, humans, the copycats that they are, have their own community that had been assigned the task. They called themselves historians, though, in my opinion, they were nothing more than fictional storytellers that managed to squeeze a grain of truth in here and there.

Humans had developed a unique defense mechanism; they had a bad habit of forgetting the most unpleasant details.

I suppose this was necessary for self-preservation, but it rendered humanity incapable of accurately recalling and recording history, thus making the existence of vampires imperative.

Our presence has been a long one, and though humans were capable of surprising you once in a while, they were very predictable more often than not.

We have observed them long enough that we were able to predict their intentions; they had tiny tell-tale signals that repeatedly announced what action they intended to take next. This was done subconsciously and became more prevalent when they were attempting to be discreet.

One example would be the young man following Edna and me at a respectful distance. He kept touching his jacket pocket, where I could only assume he had stashed a weapon of some kind. His eyes were shifting from side to side as he walked. He was surveying his surroundings, waiting for the right moment when he could strike without concerning himself with prying eyes.

He was young and good-looking, Edna’s favorite, and it was just her luck that it happened to start sprinkling just as we were about to pass an open alleyway.

Oh, dear me. She had cried, Thank goodness I had packed my umbrella!

Thank goodness you were prepared indeed, I told her. Thankfully, you just happened to stash it under the snacks you insisted on bringing.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. She had quipped as she paused to rifle through her bag.

I had continued to walk along and pretended that I didn’t notice that my friend had fallen behind and had spontaneously developed a hearing problem when I heard the muffled scream of a male resound from the alley I had just passed.

Now I was standing on a street corner, waiting for my friend to finish up.

As I leaned against a light post with my umbrella open, vampires from another cult passed by just then. They were from a distinguished order called the Holy Rollers. The cult itself rarely attended church, but it was their solemn duty to shame any other church members they noticed were absent on the days they had decided to participate.

They graced me now with a slight nod of recognition and stopped a few feet away from me on the sidewalk to block a harried-looking blonde woman who was trying her best to keep her tot from wandering off.

There were only two Holy Rollers on the sidewalk, but the Holy Rollers always tended to be tall and wide. I suppose this was intentional since their main goal was to shame and intimidate.

Well, hello there, Christine. The first Holy Roller greeted the young mother brightly.

The young woman cringed, Hello, Ms. Rapport, she greeted the Holy Roller in a polite but crisp tone.

I watched with envy as the pair seemed to grow an inch taller, and their shoulders hunched over like a couple of vultures as they addressed the young mother.

The Holy Roller that the young mother had referred to as Ms. Rapport turned to her companion. Well, look who it is, Bertha. She exclaimed to her friend, It’s Christine. You know Christine.

The Holy Roller named Bertha put a thoughtful finger to her chin. I don’t think I do. She said, shaking her head.

Ms. Rapport turned and set her sights back on Christine now. Of course, you know her, or at least we did. She paused for dramatic effect. It’s just been a while since Christine has been in church.

Bertha’s face lit up in recognition. That’s right! she cried. I must have forgotten since we haven’t seen her in a while. Christine and her young one are in Pew four, the one reserved for families.

The young mother stepped to the side as if she plotted her escape, but the two Holy Rollers had anticipated this and mirrored her movements to block her exit.

Christine’s shoulders sagged, I’ve been swamped lately, she sighed as she hefted the tot onto her hip.

The Holy Rollers both shook their heads in disapproval. The one named Bertha piped up again, Cheryl Hensley has a little one too. She reminded the young woman, And manages to make it to mass every Wednesday night and Sunday morning.

I was fascinated as I observed the exchange. I could have stood there for another hour had Edna not approached me then.

She straightened up her cardigan and ensured the tissues she had tucked into the sleeves had not become dislodged during her encounter. She eyed the Holy Rollers for a moment and then turned to me. Enough with the rubber-necking, she told me with a dignified sniff. We’re going to be late. She walked ahead of me, only pausing long enough to ensure that I followed.

I fell into step with her and gave one longing look over my shoulder at the Holy Rollers who were still harassing the overwhelmed mother.

We aren’t tall enough to join them. Edna chided me. What they do takes a lot of hunkering, and you have great posture.

She glanced back over her shoulder at them. I don’t see why you would want to anyway. She lowered her voice a few octaves as she added, They seem like a prudish bunch to me.

I gave her a sidelong look. Perhaps some prudish influence would do you some good. I quipped.

Edna pretended not to hear me. I don’t know what is wrong with our cult, she prattled on. Being part of the Ye’ Old Order of the Streetwalkers was once considered a high honor.

It’s the name, I stated bluntly.

What’s the matter with the name? she inquired.

Edna was the sharpest imbecile that I had ever met. I knew I would get nowhere with her; she was feeling sassy and rejuvenated, and to be honest, I had run out of energy.

I gave one last longing look back at the Holy Rollers.

Come along, Agnes, Edna sighed as she tugged on my sleeve. I can’t stand here all night watching you gawk at the Holy Rollers.

I put my hands on my hips. Well, you didn’t mind leaving me to wait around while you had your little snack.

I was waning, she said dramatically.

You always seem to be famished when a handsome man is in the area, I said in a snarky tone.

Oh, he was handsome, wasn’t he? she said in a dreamy voice. He reminded me of my old lover.

Edna had been around for a long time, and it was pretty taxing trying to recall all of her old loves.

Oh? I asked, "Which one?

Van Helsing, of course. She breathed his name in a breathy tone and fluttered her eyelashes.

CHAPTER 2

Nacho Man

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Satan, help me, I muttered under my breath. Van Helsing was not your boyfriend, Edna, I told her plainly.

He was so. She said, slapping my arm with the back of her hand. I could see her eyes glaze over as they often did when she was romanticizing.

He anointed me like I was a goddess. She sighed.

He was dousing you with holy water, I interjected.

He read to me in Latin. She continued, undeterred.

Wasn’t that the only language the bible was printed in at the time? I pointed out.

He showered me with jewels. she proclaimed.

Those crosses he tried to vex you with? I asked her.

To be fair, Edna had held onto some as keepsakes, and they were made of real gold, and some of them were even encrusted with real jewels. I supposed they would fetch a pretty penny if Edna ever wanted to part with them, so Van Helsing may not have been courting Edna, but he had, through no fault of his own, become Edna’s sugar daddy.

He got me right here, she said, pointing at the area of her chest where most people mistakenly believe their heart resides.

I heard his arrows could leave a nasty scar, I told her sympathetically.

You are the coldest woman I know, Agnes. she scolded me.

I’ve been dead a while, I said, shrugging helplessly.

I feel sorry for you! she retorted. Not one adventurous bone in your body.

I’m just a realist. I said defensively, I’ve never been a sucker for romantic notions.

The rain slowed to a drizzle at that moment, and the timing couldn’t have been better because we had arrived at the church. Edna and I lowered our umbrellas and began to shake them out before closing them again.

Why can’t we go over to Saint Martin’s? she whined.

I looked back at the little white church. It was a favorite amongst the vampires due to its smaller size and the fact that the pastor didn’t tend to drone on for half of the night.

Why Saint Martin’s? I queried her, What’s wrong with The Nazarene?

I’m just more popular over at Saint Martin’s, she said proudly.

Oh, you’re popular there, are you? I asked in a condescending tone that she didn’t miss.

Yes, I am, she said as she patted her hair down. I think Father Jeremy is sweet on me.

I had been about to start up the church steps, but her revelation made me stop mid-stride. I heard clergy members doing horrendous things, but making a pass at a little old lady? That was worse than embezzling church funds in my book.

I pictured the father in my mind; a neatly robust man with a rolling belly and sparkling blue eyes that twinkled when he told a cheesy joke. I was a die-hard skeptic, but even I had difficulty imagining him as a lecherous villain.

So, he told you that he has feelings for you? I ventured.

Not in so many words. Edna lowered her voice and whispered in a conspirator tone, He’s always trying to get me drunk and offers me some type of fancy bread.

I sighed, the deep kind of sigh that starts in your belly, reaches your ribs, and then explodes from your lips with such force that you can’t help but produce a raspberry.

I suppose this wine comes in a goblet? I queried her.

She nodded eagerly. A fancy silver one.

And I suppose that fancy bread is the thin kind, sort of thin and tasteless? I don’t know why I bothered to ask when I already knew the answer.

It certainly is. she established but then added, I usually don’t take it, though. She stopped and held her throat. It’s too dry and sticks to the roof of my mouth.

It’s communion. I told her bluntly, Father Jeremy is trying to give you communion.

I don’t care what he calls it, she snapped and lifted her chin with a pompous air. I’m just not that kind of girl.

I opened my mouth to explain, intending to explain what communion was, but the church bells began to toll. Irritated, I looped my arm through Edna’s elbow. Come on, I told her, We can’t appear to be proper church ladies if we are late.

The Nazarene was a favorite for vampires, and it’s a wonder that the good Pastor Stevens hadn’t figured out that most of his congregation consisted of the undead. I suppose he had made a habit of turning a blind eye since most of us were generous when the donation basket made its rounds.

Edna was a bit giddy due to her impromptu snack, so I selected a pew in the back of the church. Once we were seated, Edna placed the large canvas bag she carried onto her lap and began to paw through it.

I heard a bunch of rustling, and I could have sworn I heard a harried squeak erupt from the dark recesses.

There you are. She cried triumphantly. She extracted a relatively large cross with an impressive chain from the bag. She hurried to slip it around her neck and clung to the heavy crucifix as she waited for the services to begin.

Don’t you think that’s a bit much? I hissed.

Edna looked down at the cross in her hands. Well, how else we are going to convince people that we are two good Christian women?

I shrugged my shoulders and shot a glance around the room. Well, we do ensure that we are seen at church regularly. I pointed out to her.

But how will they know for sure? she insisted and then lifted the gaudy pendant in her hand.

They sure couldn’t miss it. I agreed with her.

I wanted to say more, but the services had begun. The organ player took her place on the stage, signaling that we should locate the hymn book inside the slots carved into the pew in front of us.

I cleared my throat as I prepared to sing off-key with the rest of the patrons. I vaguely wondered how many other church members were praying that no one was listening.

Edna elbowed me in the ribs, causing me to go even further off-key; I shot her a look as she leaned over and inquired. Are we going to Frank’s tonight?

It was common for us to skip Frank’s after church, but tonight I intended to be there with bells and all.

Yes, I said, leaning into her and speaking in a low voice so as not to disturb the other patrons, I want to address The Tall Order.

Edna gave me a sour look, Just don’t harp on about our cult’s name.

That was precisely what I had been planning to do. I looked at Edna and frowned. Why not?

Edna shrugged. I just don’t know why you have a bee in your bonnet. in a reasonable tone, she added, Our name is quite accurate, that’s our niche, and it’s what we do.

At one time, it was most likely fitting, I said through clenched teeth. But things change; it’s the millennial, and the internet revolution has begun I paused and looked at her. We should change with the times.

I am all for being modern. Edna assured me, But I don’t see what the internet has to do with our cult name.

It’s not the name itself; it’s the new meaning of the name. I told her, At one time, a Street Walker was just a person, who wandered the streets, but the meaning of Street Walker has changed, and I prefer not to be referred to in such a fashion.

Edna gave me a strange look. But you are a Street Walker, and so am I., she said a bit loudly.

In front of us, the vampire in the pew paused their awful singing long enough to clear their throat loudly. I suppose the abrupt sound was meant for us.

We will talk about it later, I told her as I opened my book and proceeded to sing. It didn’t matter if I got the words right because it seemed as if the entire flock had lost their place.

Oh, we sure will, Edna promised; from the corner of my eye, I saw her slide her hand and extracted a little piece of red yarn from her bag, which she tied around her finger. It was her third reminder today, and the woman’s right hand resembled a gift wrapped by someone with a penchant for bows.

After the service was over, Edna and I made our way over to Frank’s.

There would be no opportunities for snacking on the way to Frank’s because there was an unspoken agreement among the humans. None of them dared to venture outside after six o’clock on a Wednesday night. Wednesday night was reserved for the elderly. We often attended church services, and then a caravan of older vehicles led the way to Frank’s Diner.

Vampires had discovered long ago that secret meetings invited prying eyes and delicate ears, so it was decided that we would assemble out in public.

Frank’s Diner had become the official meeting place for vampires because of the amenities it offered. Frank’s Diner had a prejudice against hiring any wait staff over the age of twenty-one, which may have been frowned upon by the human race, but suited us, vampires, just fine.

Young humans, most under the age of twenty-four, had a natural impulse to tune out anyone over forty-five, so most vampires could speak freely without the fear of being overheard.

However, the age limit didn’t pertain to the cooks. On occasion,